Times to walk away
by otherhawk
Summary: Set shortly after Ocean's 13, everyone gathers in Vegas in order to make sure that Reuben's plans for his casino are theft proof, but they're not all there. Completed.
1. Chapter 1

**Set a short time after 13. As always, I own practically nothing, and certainly nothing connected with the Ocean's universe.**

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It was difficult for Saul to keep the smile off his face as he looked round Reuben's living room. He'd worked with a lot of people over the years. A lot of friends. This group was something else.

They'd already finished catching up with each other, for the most part, and now Frank was showing Yen a couple of card tricks and Basher and Livingston were having what he'd thought was a heated discussion on an important technical point, but which had turned out to be about some new Star Trek movie. Linus was standing, flipping through the plans to the Midas. The kid needed to learn to relax more. There'd be plenty of time for work over the next week. By the weekend they'd have Reuben's place more secure than any other casino in Vegas.

Reuben himself had been dragged upstairs by Dr. Stan half an hour ago for his monthly check-up. It seemed the 'I have guests' excuse just wasn't acceptable. Good thing too, there were reasons he liked Stan – mostly that he knew all about discretion and never took any nonsense off anyone. Something that had been at the front of his mind when he'd first started recommending him to certain people.

That left Rusty and Danny, and Turk and Virgil as the only ones still left to arrive. He knew Rusty and Danny were doing something stupid in town; and Virgil had called hours ago to say he and Turk's plane had landed. That had been the last they'd been heard from. Fifty said the next call was from the cop shop, but he'd had no takers.

Which was just as well, really, as the twins finally stomped through the door some three hours after embarking on a thirty minute drive.

"By the way, we can't let him drive anymore." Virgil said to the room at large, after Reuben's butler showed them in. "He gets lost."

"I wasn't the one navigating, princess. Driver drives. Shotgun navigates." Turk snapped immediately, shoving his brother in the shoulder.

"Well, I didn't call shotgun. I called driver." Virgil shoved back.

"I called driver _first_."

"No you didn't. No you didn't, because – "

"Guys, haven't you driven here about three hundred times before?" Linus interrupted.

They both turned to glare at him. "Shut up." Virgil said, finally.

"So," Turk began, looking round. "Are we the last?"

Livingston shook his head. "Rusty and Danny still aren't here."

"They're doing a favour for Marcus Garrity." Reuben stood in the doorway, Stan – his stethoscope still round his neck – slightly behind him.

"Garrity?" Frank frowned. "Thought he retired."

Saul snorted. "_I_ retired." he pointed out. "_Danny_ retired. Doesn't seem to mean much these days."

Frank nodded, acceptingly. "Didn't think they were that close to Garrity anyway."

Basher laughed. Saul almost smiled himself. "They're not. But you know what they're like."

"Huh?" Linus looked confused. He really needed to get past the whole hero-worship thing and accept that while his heroes might or might not have feet of clay, they certainly had more than their fair share of flaws.

"He told them what he wanted, and they got caught up in how they could do it without thinking about why they should." He was absolutely sure about what he was saying. After all, he'd seen it a hundred times before.

"When I called them last week, they seemed to be having fun." Reuben said. "Rusty said they'd be finished by this afternoon." He frowned slightly. "Would have expected to hear from them by now, actually."

"They probably stopped for something to eat." Stan suggested.

That seemed more than possible.

"Hey, Linus." Basher called. "How did you get on with that job for Bobby?"

Linus grimaced slightly. "Fine." he said shortly.

Intriguing. And Basher obviously agreed. "Wait a minute, you don't get to leave it there. What was the problem?"

"No problems. Everything went like clockwork. A textbook job." He still sounded pissed off though.

"So . . . ?" Livingston prompted.

Linus sighed. "It was really boring." he admitted. "And dad kept asking if I was sure I could handle it."

"So you're not going to be working with him again?" Saul asked delicately.

"I don't want to, but he was talking like . . . I don't even know what."

There were always problems with getting what you wanted.

"Did you guys hear about Roman?" Livingston asked suddenly.

There was a general shaking of heads.

"Well, apparently he got arrested on some stupid charge. Driving without a license, or something like that. Anyway, he pays the fine with what looks like a suitcase full of money, only he's got one of his holograms set up in the case. So all the money's a fake, and he drives off scot-free."

"Wouldn't the hologram cost more than the fine?" Turk asked.

Livingston shrugged. "He said it was a matter of principle. They never got his real name anyway."

A phone rang suddenly. One of those jangly mobile tunes that he hated. Stan pulled an apologetic face and glanced at the caller display before answering. "Hi, we were just talking about you."

Saul stilled. The fact that it was Stan' phone that had been rung didn't sit well with him at all. Roman? Bobby? _Danny_, _Rusty_?

Stan nodded at whatever the person on the other end was saying and said "Just a minute." He covered the mouthpiece and looked at Reuben. "I need to take this in the other room."

Reuben, who looked like how Saul was feeling, nodded. As Stan stepped out the door, they heard him say. "Okay, first things first. Have you got the bleeding stopped?"

Nine people, one thought.

Turk was closest and jammed his foot in the door before it was closed. Yen was fastest and slipped through the hallway and caught the next door before it shut. They crowded silently just outside the room and listened.

Through the crack in the door, Saul could see Stan pacing round the room. "Okay, do you know if the bullet's still in there?"

Damn. Oh, _damn_.

"Right, I see . . . no, you did the right thing."

Stan' voice sounded grave but reassuring, and Saul could hear Linus' harsh breathing just behind him.

"OK . . . yes . . . no, you don't need to worry about that right now, if . . . " Stan started pacing and suddenly stopped dead as though listening to something. "Am I on speaker phone right now?"

There was a pause. "Okay then." He raised his voice significantly as if trying to get someone's attention. "Hey. _Hey_. Say you're fine one more time and Danny has my permission to sedate you by any means that come to hand."

His breath caught in his throat. _Danny_. _Rusty_. Damn.

"Well, all right then." Stan went on. "I'm at Reuben's right now, so with your permission I'll tell . . . " He trailed off, obviously listening to something urgent. "No, I went into the other room." There was another pause, and then Stan turned round slowly, walked over to the door and swung it open. Saul hadn't bothered trying to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping, but by the sound of the scuttling footsteps behind him, he was one of the only ones.

Stan looked at them for a long moment and shook his head slowly. "All of them, actually." he told Danny.

Saul reached out a hand and took the phone from Stan. There was the sound of low, familiar voices on the other end. "Daniel?"

"Hi, Saul." Danny sounded his usual relaxed and confident self. Or at least he would have, if Saul hadn't known him for more years than he cared to think of. As it was, he could hear the muffled, frantic edge.

"Hey Saul." Rusty sounded cheerful, and he didn't need the decades of friendship to read the exhaustion. Probably did to catch the pain though.

Still, he relaxed a little. If there was a chance that it was life-threatening they would have dropped the pride. Actually, if there'd been a chance it was life-threatening Danny would have got them to a hospital and to hell with the problems of explaining bullet wounds.

"How is he?" he asked all the same.

"I'm fine." Rusty immediately answered. Saul let his silence do the talking.

"Bullet in the shoulder." Danny said and this time anyone could have picked up on the stress in his voice. Not a good sign.

"Where are you?" He made sure his tone was stern; the help wasn't up for discussion.

"Green Beach motel. Twenty miles out of town." To his credit Danny had barely hesitated.

"You can't miss it. There's an inflatable buffalo outside." Rusty put in, and Saul couldn't quite figure out if he was more comfortable with that being a pain-induced hallucination or a reality.

"Green Beach motel." he repeated, glancing round. Livingston immediately headed out of the room and he knew they'd have an exact postal address in minutes. "Is anyone looking for you?" If there was, well, they could deal with it, but they had to know.

"Nah, we're good." Rusty said happily, and Saul could almost _see_ the look that Danny gave him.

"Clean anyway." Danny agreed after a moment that had unquestionably been very full.

He relaxed a bit more. "You need to talk to Stan again?" he asked.

"I know what I'm doing." Danny answered. In the background he heard Rusty muttering something in the background that might have been uncomplimentary and might have been another claim to be fine. "Rusty, don't . . . " he could hear Danny's attention wavering.

"Sit tight. We'll be there soon." he promised as the line went dead.

Livingston ran back into the room, waving a piece of paper. "Got it!" he babbled. "There was also a Green Lodge and a Pink Beach, but this is definitely the place, and how bad is it?"

Saul looked to Stan. "Rusty's been shot." the doctor said bluntly. "In the shoulder. It isn't life-threatening, but I would like to get there as soon as possible."

"Turk will drive us." Saul said, taking the paper out of Livingston's hand and thereby ruling on exactly who was going. Him, Stan and Turk, leaving two free seats in the car.

"Hey, I want to go." Linus protested, apparently doing the same math.

Saul stared at him and he shut up. "There's no-one looking for them, so we can bring him back here." he pointed out, before belatedly glancing over at Reuben. It was his house being so freely offered, after all.

Reuben just looked back at him. "What? You'd be bringing them back here anyway." And Saul remembered that he wasn't actually the one who'd known the boys longest. "Get going, already."

It wasn't until the third time that he'd had to remind Turk that getting pulled over for speeding would be disastrous right now that he began to second guess himself. Possibly one of the younger ones would have been more helpful. But they'd all wanted to go – they'd all felt the same panic, and he hated waiting around. Besides, what he did have going for him was that he was probably the only one who could, if necessary, _tell_ Rusty and Danny what to do, and have some hope that they'd actually do it.

"That's it." Turk said suddenly, swinging the car round in a ninety degree turn and screeching into the motel parking lot. Green Beach. And there _was_ an inflatable buffalo bobbing around outside, advertising a local diner.

Turk sprung out of the car and looked round the courtyard. Slightly more sedately, but no less hastily, Saul and Stan followed.

"What room number?" Stan asked.

Oh, right. He sighed and held out a hand for Stan' cell phone again.

"That one." Turk's voice sounded odd. Saul turned and followed his gaze. A ground floor room. Stan nodded and immediately started heading towards it, but it wasn't until Saul got a lot closer that he saw the bloodstain on the ground outside and understood.

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**I was in two minds about posting this. At the very least. And I'm afraid that there wasn't originally supposed to be a break there, but I was hoping for reactions before getting the next bit in a workable shape. Yes, I know. Pathetic insecurity issues. ;D**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey, just want to make it perfectly clear that the pathetic insecurity at the last chapter was in no way a matter of 'I'm not updating until you let me know what you think'. I just wrote this so many different times that I was a little past the point of being sure what worked. But thanks for all your support and lovely words - it means so much to me. I always try and reply to individuals, but a big thank you to the people who offered anonymous support. Hope you like this chapter too.**

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The fact that Danny opened the door immediately told Saul that he'd probably seen them coming a mile off.

As they walked inside he smiled reassuringly, and when Danny smiled back it almost reached his eyes. Enough to fool most people, but there were red stains down the side of his white shirt.

There was an uneven trail of blood leading from the doorway to the bed furthest from the door where Rusty sat, his shirt (which might have been blue or might have been purple and was certainly one of the least inconspicuous garments Saul had ever seen) open, revealing a white bandage at his shoulder, the blood just beginning to soak through. When he looked up his face was pale and his eyes were a little too bright. He smiled. "So, looks like we're going to be a little late for Reuben's thing."

"How are you feeling?" Saul asked, studying him carefully.

"Fine." Rusty said, but he let a little of the pain show in his eyes and mouth. Enough for Saul to read and know that it was this bad and no worse.

Turk hung back in the doorway, while Stan walked briskly over to Rusty and swept aside the pile of bandages, antiseptic, painkillers and gummi bears to sit on the chair in front of him.

Saul turned and stared hard at Danny for a few long moments. "So who are we going after?" he asked, finally.

"No-one. It's done." Rusty said. He was forming his words just a little too precisely.

Stan made a frustrated noise. "Keep still."

Saul didn't look round. "Danny?"

"Tactical miscalculation on our part. He doesn't know we hit him. He doesn't know he _was_ hit." Danny's face and tone were carefully neutral. Probably he and Rusty hadn't reached an agreement on the whole revenge issue yet. Which meant, unfortunately, that there was little point in pushing it.

"Who is he?" Turk asked.

"Morris Farrell." Danny answered, reluctantly.

Well, hell. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stan stop in the process of rebandaging Rusty's shoulder and look up. "The Morris Farrell who's so paranoid he's never seen without a small army of bodyguards? That's a minor miscalculation?"

"Six isn't an army." Rusty pointed out and Saul looked round at him sharply. That had sounded very slurred indeed.

Stan apparently thought so too. He stared at Rusty's face for a moment before grabbing a mini flashlight out of his bag and shining it in Rusty's eyes.

Rusty immediately flinched away from the light. "Ow." he explained.

"Did you hit your head?" Stan asked with a kind of calm urgency.

With a frown, Rusty reached up and felt the back of his head carefully. Then he looked to Danny. "Did I?"

Danny had been standing completely still since the first realisation. Statue still, but now he nodded slowly. "Yes. When you fell. The table." For a second an expression of guilt and remorse crossed his face, so vivid that anyone could have read it. "I didn't think."

Easy not to think your best friend might have concussion when you can see the bullet hole. He wanted to point that out, but he couldn't think of a way of saying it that didn't acknowledge the things he wasn't supposed to see.

Stan was now using the flashlight to examine the back of Rusty's head. "Hmmm."

Hmmm? What the hell did that mean? He bit back his frustration.

Stan did that reassuring smile that doctors must get taught all the way back in pre med. "Can you tell me your full name, what day it is and where you are?"

Rusty blinked. "Motel room, Saturday." He paused and looked over at Danny again. "Real name?" he asked, sotto voce.

Saul frowned, disturbed.

Danny smiled slightly. "Think you just failed basic comprehension 101." he said easily and looked at Stan who had moved a little further back, and sat frowning. It looked to Saul as if the examination was finished and apparently Danny thought so too, as he crossed the room and sat next to Rusty, just a little closer than would be considered socially normal. He looked across Rusty – who still seemed supremely unbothered about, well, everything really – and asked Stan "Got a shopping list?"

Stan nodded.

"Call Linus." Danny instructed

Stan nodded again, "Keep him awake." he ordered, then he pulled out his cell phone and stepped outside.

Well, that would be one way to make the kid panic. Saul had the sneaking suspicion that this would be his first time dealing with the dreaded sudden phone call and subsequent scamming of emergency medical supplies. He'd had quite a few in his time. Rarely from the boys. Rusty and Danny, they . . . they didn't phone to say they were in trouble and needed help. They phoned to say they had a plan, oh, and by the way, it was just possible that they were in trouble. It was a subtle difference, but it was one that rankled. If Stan hadn't happened to be at Reuben's when they called, he wondered how long it would have been until they got round to phoning. After all, he hadn't found out about St. Louis until nearly three months later when Phil had asked him if he'd heard the rumour. Phil had been laughing, but Saul had thought he was going to have a heart attack right there in the hotel lobbey. It had been all he could do to avoid calling them up just to yell at them. Damned, stupid, boys.

Stan stuck his head back through the door and looked at Danny. "Sorry. Blood group?"

"B negative." Danny answered immediately. "And he's allergic to penicillin."

"And tofu." Rusty said firmly.

Danny looked at him. "You're not allergic to tofu, you just don't like it."

Rusty blinked. "It's people." he declared.

Danny opened his mouth to reply, and Saul leapt in before they could get any more caught up. "Well, he wasn't offering you tofu anyway."

"Who wasn't?" Rusty asked after a pause.

This was getting frightening. He caught Danny's eye, and Danny shook his head ever so slightly. Not time to call an ambulance. Yet. But there was something so _wrong_ with Rusty acting like this. Even when he was drunk he was always perfectly controlled. The perpetually-amused calm centre.

Saul shook his head and turned to Turk. "We need to get this place clean. Get rid of the blood outside."

Turk stood there gaping at him. "How?" he asked, finally.

"There's a bottle of bleach in the car." he answered patiently. He'd taken it from Reuben's, figuring that they couldn't rely on finding what they'd need hear. Didn't matter how confident Rusty and Danny were that there was no-one after them, he wasn't going to leave any kind of trail leading back to them if he could help it.

Turk still looked mildly astonished, but he left to do as he was told. Good. The twins were slightly easier to deal with apart, but, well, split them up for too long and they sulked, not to put too fine a point on it.

He started to pick up the blood-stained pieces of gauze and bandage that littered the floor. After a moment Danny stood up to join him, and he watched silently as Rusty moved to follow and Danny laid a firm but gentle restraining hand on his good shoulder.

"How about the car?" he asked Danny after a couple of moments, once he'd moved on to scrubbing the carpet.

"Untraceable." Danny answered promptly.

He nodded, not in the least surprised. "We'll send Virgil back for it when we get back to Reuben's." There was no point in taking risks,

After a while, Danny cleared his throat. "The bodyguards were easy. It wasn't them."

Saul said nothing. It had always been one of his best tactics.

"Rusty was the inside guy. I was the investor. Dropped a few hints in Farrell's ear about how big a deal it was, and how if any word got out we'd all be sent down and he sent them away like it was his idea."

Saul nodded. He could see how it had worked. Seen it a million times before, in fact. But it didn't explain anything. "So what happened?"

"Danny shot me." Rusty sounded surprised and when Saul looked from him to Danny, Danny was looking at the ground as though it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

He shook his head; this wasn't what had happened. "Daniel?" he asked, gently.

"Blanks. When Rus' said the money was gone." But he was still looking at the ground.

That should have been the perfect exit plan. "So . . . ?"

Danny looked up at him. "Farrell took a gun from his desk and – "

" – shot me." Rusty finished, smiling, slightly incongruously. "I remember now." Then he moved a little too quickly and his face stilled and he held his breath for a few moments.

Danny stood up and ever so casually sat on the bed beside him, close enough to touch, until he relaxed and leaned in, against Danny.

Saul looked away. "Farrell can't touch a gun." he reminded Danny. "He has a . . . what do you call it? A phobia."

"Thursday afternoons." Rusty said suddenly, and Saul was prepared to dismiss it as more evidence of confusion and start worrying harder, when Danny looked over sharply.

"You're kidding."

"Makes sense." Rusty shrugged. "Ow." he added.

"The hypnotist – "

" – Exactly."

Danny shook his head, wonderingly. "That makes, what, five?"

"Uh huh." Rusty sounded exhausted and Danny moved a little nearer. Saul pretended not to notice.

"Five what?" he asked instead.

"Five blinds as to what Farrell spends his Thursday afternoons doing. According to his diary, his secretary and every official source, he spends them playing squash – "

" – but his supposed partner is a nonagenarian – "

" – and there are rumours – "

" – started by Farrell – "

" – that it's actually a cover for an affair he's having. Except dig a little deeper and that's a lie, and he's really seeing a masseuse – "

" – Swedish – "

" – which is another fake, because he actually goes to a hypnotherapist."

"Which is true."

"Exactly. Now, according to her records he's there to stop smoking – "

" – which doesn't seem to be working – "

" – which makes a lot more sense if he's actually there to have his phobia cured." Danny finished.

Saul looked at them but didn't comment. He was glad that made sense to someone.

From the doorway Stan cleared his throat. "Ready?"

The drive back to Reuben's was a nightmare. Despite a hefty dose of painkillers, getting Rusty to the car had been awful. Rusty hadn't made a sound, but Saul had seen the fingernail marks in Danny's hand, and the apology in Rusty's eyes.

From the front seat he'd spent most of his time staring into the rear view mirror. Rusty and Danny were huddled close together, with Stan doing his professional fretting beside them. The pair of them hadn't stopped talking once, planning a heist at the Louvre, which he hoped was hypothetical, because whatever they said he didn't think the Mona Lisa was going to match Reuben's drapes, and debating whether or not ketchup was a vegetable. The job and Danny, meant Rusty was just about holding it together, but by the time they pulled up outside Reuben's, Rusty's head had sagged on to Danny's shoulder.

"Wake up." Danny said immediately, his voice low and insistent. "Hey. I need you to open your eyes. Okay?"

And Rusty looked up at Danny, and Saul could see the recognition dawn, and then he smiled – the sort of honest-to-god, open, blinding smile that it was almost embarrassing to be in the presence of. It made him look younger than Saul had ever known him, and it hurt his soul, just a little bit.

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**Always remember folks - Soylent green is people.**


	3. Chapter 3

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So, I'm really sorry that this took so long. Don't know what it is with this story, but I just keep on running into brick walls. Still, there's only one more chapter to go, and if I didn't know myself so well, I'd promise that it'll take nowhere near as long. Unfortunately I do, so I can only apologise again, and promise to do my very best.

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Another nightmarish walk to another room – though admittedly Reuben's spare room was infinitely cosier and more comfortable than the motel had been, even if Saul had serious issues with the man's choice of décor – and Saul found himself once again standing in the doorway, watching Rusty and Danny, sitting huddled on the edge of the bed, talking in low voices. He was pretty sure that Danny was trying to persuade Rusty to actually lie down, but it didn't seem to be going terribly well. Undoubtedly Stan would intervene, and Danny would get more insistent, when Linus and the others got back. Until then he couldn't blame the doctor for picking his battles carefully. Rusty was, well. Rusty was a lot of things. Model patient wasn't one of them.

Beside him, Basher shuffled his feet uneasily. Reuben looked like he was desperately wishing for a cigar. "What I want to know is, what's taking them so long?" he asked, pointlessly, for about the fifth time.

"They'll be here." Saul replied, almost as calmly as he had the previous times. Actually, he was wondering that himself, despite the fact that logically he knew that whatever Linus had planned, and even with Livingston, Frank and Yen helping, they couldn't possibly be expected to get everything that Stan had asked for and get back for at least another half hour or so. And yet he still also knew that he was going to curse them for being so slow the minute they finally walked through the door. What could he say? Life wasn't fair.

Across the room, he caught sight of Stan glancing up from his conversation with the nurse he'd called (William, the very personification of discretion apparently, and Saul had needed to send both Turk and Virgil to retrieve the car from the motel in order to stave off any more male nurse jokes) and looking first at Rusty and then at his watch. Obviously time for another cognitive test.

"Okay, Rusty," Stan began with a worrying degree of cheerfulness in his voice. "Can you tell me . . . " his voice trailed off, obviously in response to the fact that Rusty's eyes were half closed, and he obviously wasn't listening in the slightest. Stan sighed. "Danny. Would you mind?"

Danny nodded without looking round. "Rus'. Got a minute? I need you." His tone was light, with no particular inflection, and Saul found himself marvelling at the way Rusty's head snapped up, and he immediately managed to focus on Danny. _I need you._ They'd always been everything he'd ever tried to warn them against, and he'd never even come close to being able to blame them for it.

"Danny?" Rusty asked, wonderingly. "You're here?"

Well, that didn't bode well.

"Always." Danny promised, casually – foolishly, Saul thought. "I need to ask you a couple of questions. Can you tell me your name – your real name - where we are and what day it is?"

Rusty frowned at him. "I hit my head?" He didn't sound certain and Saul realised that he was just putting the facts together. Wasn't really remembering. Wasn't really coherent.

He heard Reuben mutter under his breath again. "Where the hell are they?" And Basher had started drumming his fingers against the wall.

"Questions, Rus'." Danny said patiently. "Your name, where we are, and the date."

"Rusty Ryan," he hesitated and looked around the room. "And we're at Reuben's." He stopped and looked at Danny, and for the first time, Saul could see a crack in his calmness. "I can't . . . Danny, I can't think properly." The thread of fear in his voice made Saul ache inside.

Danny nodded and leaned forwards. "I'm here." he said, simply and Rusty relaxed and leaned into his shoulder.

"That's sweet." Reuben said very, very softly. Saul and Basher turned to stare at him. "What? It is."

But Stan was frowning, and never mind cursing Linus, if the kid didn't come through that door in the next five minutes, Saul was going to have a nice, long chat with him. Maybe even have a word with Bobby.

"When did you get out of the clink?" Rusty asked, sleepily, looking up at Danny, and Saul exchanged long panic-filled glances with Reuben and Basher. Amnesia? Brain damage? This couldn't be happening. He had to force himself to breathe.

Danny didn't even hesitate. "Little while ago now. I came and found you first." His voice was completely even, his attention apparently focussed exclusively on Rusty, but Saul saw him subtly manoeuvre Rusty around, letting Stan in for a closer examination.

"Because of the cookies." Rusty nodded, and Saul hoped that made more sense to Danny than it did to him.

He saw Stan mouth "Keep him occupied." at Danny.

Danny didn't acknowledge it in any way. "Sure, Rus'. Because of the cookies." Rusty made to bat Stan away, and Danny reached out and grabbed his hands and held them still. "We went to Vegas. Had some fun."

Saul could hear Basher choking behind him, and he worked really hard not to even look at Reuben. One hundred and sixty three million, one hundred and fifty six thousand, seven hundred and fifty nine dollars; three casinos; one incredibly pissed off Terry Benedict and they'd 'had some fun.' Well. He supposed they had.

Rusty nodded. "I really liked that car."

Saul couldn't even begin to see the connection. Danny apparently had no trouble. "I know." he soothed.

"We should do the same to him." Rusty said, emphatically.

Danny paused. "You want to blow up Terry Benedict's car?"

Well, that took the prize for the worst idea he'd heard in a while.

"Uh huh."

"I think he might mind. More than a little." Danny said, with a crooked smile.

"I really liked that car." Rusty repeated.

"Well," Danny began reasonably (and Saul wondered just how far his definition of 'reasonable' was capable of stretching.) "Basher blew up your apartment and you didn't insist that we blow his place up."

_That_ he'd never heard about. He turned to stare intently at Basher, and noticed with grim amusement that Reuben was doing the same.

"Woah!" Basher held his hands up. "That was an accident!"

Saul didn't look away. Neither did Reuben.

"Could've happened to anyone! I swear!"

"'S never the red wire, right Bash?" The slur in Rusty's voice was nearly masked by Danny's laughter.

"Right." Basher nodded. "Never did _that_ again."

"But it's different." Rusty said, thoughtfully. "Not just because it was Bash. Because that wasn't actually my place. I was just staying there. But it was my car. And I liked that car."

"We're not destroying _anything_ of Terry Benedict's." Danny said, firmly.

Rusty sighed heavily, and his shoulders slumped and . . . was that a pout Saul was seeing? He blinked and once again didn't dare look at Reuben.

"Dan-ny."

And that was definitely a whine. Shaking his head, Saul did his best not to laugh. Because that would just be wrong. But later, there was going to be a certain amount of mocking.

Danny sighed, and Saul suddenly realised that he was going to fold. Danny Ocean, who never backed down from anything, ever, was going to fold. "Well, maybe." he said, in a tone that really meant 'yes'.

Make that a lot of mocking.

Reuben leaned over to Basher. "If they come to you, warn us first." he said quietly. Saul doubted that it would come to that, but he couldn't be certain, and yeah, he agreed. He wanted some pretty good Terry Benedict contingency plans.

There was a crashing noise in the hall, and Saul's ears pricked up hopefully.

"Hey! Watch it dumbass.

"Least I can walk, talk and carry a suitcase at the same time. What are you, Piltdown man?"

"Piltdown man? I didn't think they had scientific features in Mad Magazine."

Turk and Virgil had apparently come back from the motel. Not who he'd been hoping to hear. An instant later they appeared in the doorway.

"How is he?" Virgil asked, in a hushed voice.

"Fine, thanks for asking." Rusty said in an almost clear voice, having sat up straight apparently the moment he'd heard someone new coming in.

Saul watched Danny's thumb brush across Rusty's knuckles and said nothing.

"Right." Turk said, nodding. "Because you look fine. I mean, the pale face, the sweat-covered brow and the blood does absolutely nothing."

Saul glared at Turk. And Virgil, mostly just out of habit.

"What's in this suitcase anyhow?" Virgil said, hastily, swinging it round and just avoiding hitting his brother. "It's huge. Danny, how many shoes do you need?"

"Five million dollars." Danny said, without looking round. There was a slight pause. "It's Garrity's. Well, it is now."

And earlier that day it had been Farrell's. Five million. Saul grimaced and tried not to think up ways of explaining to Garrity that it wasn't worth the price.

"Wait, you actually got the money?" Linus' voice was incredulous, and Saul smiled slightly at the amused expression on Danny's face.

Wait. Back up a minute. Linus' voice was incredulous . . . he turned round sharply, and realised dimly that he'd rarely been as pleased to see anyone as he was to see Linus, Livingston, Yen and Frank, gathered in the hallway, laden down with the fruits of their labours.

He thought he heard Stan mutter 'Thank god.' before the doctor marched briskly forwards and started examining packages. "Bring everything in here. Quickly as possible, please."

Linus was staring at Rusty. "Wow, you look terrible. Are you feeling all right?"

"Nice to see you too, Linus." Rusty said, dryly and Saul was just relieved that he recognised him.

There was silence for a while, as Saul and the others helped Stan unpack, and set everything up in a pattern that despite the fact that he'd seen it before, still didn't really make much sense to him.

"Technically speaking . . . " Rusty began, thoughtfully.

"Don't finish that sentence." Danny interrupted, calmly.

There was a pause. "You just know I'm – " Rusty began

Danny frowned. " – you're not right."

A further pause. "Technically speaking, the job was a complete success." Rusty said suddenly.

Danny sighed. "I told you not to finish that sentence."

"Did you?" Rusty asked innocently.

"I know when you're faking remember? You didn't forget that."

Out of the corner of his eye, Saul glanced over and saw that the boys' hands were still clasped together, and Rusty's head was on Danny's shoulder, and he thought about nonsensical conversations to hide what needed to be said, and about impossible promises that could still be kept and not for the first time he realised that some things he'd just never worried about.

"Okay, we're done." Stan said, at last, expectantly. No-one moved. "That means everyone out." he said, with a raised eyebrow.

With that, oh so subtle hint, everyone headed to the door. Saul heard Linus pause in the doorway and turned in time to see the kid glance over his shoulder. "Uh, Danny?"

Danny, of course, hadn't moved from his spot beside Rusty. Saul sighed and grabbed Linus by the arm and dragged him away.

"Saul, what the hell?" Linus complained.

Reuben explained, with a little more gentleness in his voice than Saul would have managed. "Danny isn't everyone."

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**So, wouldn't like to go as far as hoping that was worth the wait, but I really hope that you at least liked it.**


	4. Chapter 4

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And this is the last part of this. Hope you like it!

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Saul was actually almost impressed that Linus kept his mouth shut until they were all back in Reuben's living room. He'd known the kid long enough now to realise that when he was really worried, Linus tended to fixate on something and worry it half to death.

But instead there was complete silence.

Reuben, Frank and Basher headed immediately for the drinks cabinet. Saul couldn't blame them, but he shook his head when Reuben looked at him enquiringly. Not at the moment. Not yet.

Turk and Virgil perched on either side of the sofa. Yen sat in between them, his expression promising physical retribution the moment either of them said anything.

Livingston slumped in a chair next to them, and seemed to take great interest in studying the back of his hands.

Linus, after walking round the room twice, looking as though he was trying to start a conversation with someone – anyone – returned to the table he'd been stood at earlier that evening - years ago -and started flicking through the Midas plans. Somehow Saul doubted that he was seeing any of it.

The simple truth of the matter was that waiting was hellish; he'd always known that. It was one thing to be patient whilst a plan came together, quite another to sit around, helpless, doing _nothing_, waiting to find out if someone you cared about was going to be all right. And Saul had lived in this world for a very long time and had found himself in this situation far more often than he cared to think on, but it honestly never got easier. And this was Rusty.

"Sit down, will you? You're making me dizzy." Reuben snapped, and it took Saul a startled moment to realise he was talking about him. Unknowingly he'd been pacing up and down in front of the door. With a scowl, he deliberately forced himself to sit. And if he picked the chair nearest the door, what of it?

"He's going to be all right." Frank said suddenly, staring into his glass of brandy.

Everyone murmured their agreement. "Yes, yes." "Of course he is." "He'll be fine."

Saul found himself nodding along with everyone and didn't think in the slightest about the blood, or the confusion in Rusty's eyes, or the way Danny had clung to him. He hated waiting.

"Should we call Isabel?" Reuben asked, after another moments silence.

Saul grimaced and shook his head quickly.

Reuben blinked. "Oh." And then, with the air of a man desperately trying to avoid any more silence, asked "When?"

The actual answer was 'pretty much the moment Rusty chose to spend six months in Vegas' but he didn't particularly want to share that with Reuben. So he shrugged and said "A while. Like I can keep up." His fingers were drumming against the arm of the chair and it took such an effort to make them stop.

Personally, he had to admit that he'd been glad. It wasn't so much that he didn't like Isabel – though he didn't – but he'd never thought that she was good for Rusty. She took too much for granted. Didn't see what was there. And he wasn't just talking about Rusty, he was talking about the way she saw the world. A lack of wonder. But of course, Rusty never wanted anything that was good for him.

"You sure that Danny should be in there?" Linus asked abruptly, staring at the doorway.

"Yes." Yen snapped, glaring.

"Okay." Linus held up his hands and stepped backwards, and not for the first time Saul wondered if they should be considering anger management classes for their greaseman. "It's just that, maybe it's not something he wants to see, and won't he just be in the way?"

"Stan'll work round him." Basher said. "'E knows to make allowances."

Saul thought about the first time the boys had dealt with Stan. That other time in St. Louis. The explosion – the reason that no-one ever worked with Eddie Delaney again. Danny lying on the bed, face drawn, swathed in bandages. The look in Rusty's eyes when Stan had asked him to step outside. Saul remembered Stan actually taking a step closer to the door – he'd genuinely been afraid – and then Rusty had smiled and Stan had never, _never_ asked again. Yes, he worked round them. Made the same allowances that everyone else did.

"But I just don't see – "

"Shut up, Linus." the Malloys said in unison, before blinking in surprise at each other.

"Why?" Linus asked defensively.

"It's not polite to point out your friends' soft targets." Livingston said with a sigh.

"Particularly not when it's something they can't do anything about." Reuben added.

"And wouldn't if they could." Saul said quietly, his eyes fixed on the door, his hands folded in his lap to prevent himself from fidgeting.

Linus stared around them for a few seconds, and then he finally got it.

And once again there was silence. And waiting.

It had been just a few minutes more than eternity when Stan finally emerged, the pile of his gown and gloves in his hands. Saul could see the bloodstains and a bitter taste rose at the back of his throat.

"He's going to be fine." Stan said, looking round, his tone reassuring as always, meeting everyone's eyes. Stan would have made a good conman, Saul often thought. But this didn't feel like a lie and Saul was inclined to thank every higher power he'd ever heard of. "I've removed the bullet and he's resting comfortably."

"Really? Can we see him?" Turk asked eagerly. Virgil leaned across the sofa and punched him in the arm. Yen made no move to stop him.

"No." Stan smiled. "He's still asleep. Will be for a few more hours." He hesitated for a split second. "Danny is with him." And Stan had always been far too discreet and understanding to spell things out, but Saul would have known that Danny probably wasn't doing so well anyway.

Reuben took Stan upstairs to get washed up and now that the terrible waiting was over, the atmosphere had totally changed. Turk had filled the others in, and pretty soon, the main topic of conversation was exactly how Morris Farrell was going to be destroyed. Looked like it was going to happen whether Danny and Rusty got involved or not. Well, good.

Saul left it nearly five minutes before he casually headed out of the room. He hesitated in the hallway and stared down at the two bags the twins had left there.

Unsurprisingly neither bag was labelled. He opened the first and was immediately confronted by a metallic blue shirt, so he turned his attention to the other. A lime green shirt was on top of that one. Right. Clearly Rusty had done the packing.

Saul sighed and went through both bags until he found a fresh change of clothes that were unquestionably Danny's.

When he walked into the room, Danny was sitting in the chair next to the bed, his eyes fixed on Rusty's face, Rusty's hand clutched between his.

Looking sideways quickly, Saul saw William, the discreet nurse, busying himself tidying up the equipment. He wasn't looking at the boys, but there was a very slight smirk on his face, and Saul realised that he thought he'd got everything figured out. He waited until the man looked round and looked meaningfully at him, and watched as he scuttled further back, further out of earshot.

Satisfied, Saul walked up behind Danny and put his hand on his shoulder. Danny didn't seem to notice. Saul stared at Rusty – pale and vulnerable – and couldn't help but be vaguely astonished that Rusty didn't immediately wake up.

"He's going to be all right, Danny." Saul said, into the silence.

Danny didn't look round. "It was my fault."

"How do you figure?" he asked, carefully. He'd been expecting that Danny would need to talk. And he should have been expecting the guilt.

"I know how dangerous Farrell is. I should have been more careful." Danny's voice was flat and he still didn't look away from Rusty's face.

"The pair of you took every precaution." Saul said, because he knew it was true. They had been careful – more than anyone else would or could have been – they had been professional and they had been precise. And their plan had been good. Because that was who they were.

"Everyone knows Farrell can't touch a gun." Danny quoted bitterly. "We – I – should have been certain."

You were certain, Saul wanted to say. Everyone was certain. But Danny already knew that. Instead he gripped Danny's shoulder tighter. "Not your fault." he said, firmly, quietly.

"He was talking about when I was in prison. He wasn't expecting me to be there." Saul could hear the question in Danny's voice. Unfortunately he didn't know the answer.

"I didn't see that much of him while you were gone. He moved around a lot." Saul admitted.

"He got hurt and he was alone." Danny stated flatly. And Saul couldn't think of anything to say, because he didn't know, but it was probably true.

"It's in the past." he said, feeling the inadequacy.

"Every time I close my eyes I see myself shooting him." Danny said emotionlessly.

"Danny – " Saul began, and he honestly didn't know what he was going to say.

" – I know, I know." Danny interrupted. "Blanks. I shot him with blanks. It was so simple, you know? Rusty tells me and Farrell that our investment's gone. I get mad. Pull out a gun. Shoot him. I shot him, Saul." He let go of Rusty's hand and started rubbing at the blood staining his shirt. "I shot him. And Farrell was supposed to break down at that. Like he did at the Waverley. He was supposed to piss himself and run out of the room. But instead he pulled a gun out of his desk and shot Rusty."

"You didn't shoot Rusty and you _couldn't have known_. And you got him out of there. You phoned Stan. You got him safe." Saul put all the conviction he'd ever had into his voice, and he felt Danny relax, and he knew he'd been heard.

"Rusty said I shot him." Danny said, his fingers still tracing the bloodstains on his chest.

"But he knew that he wasn't remembering right. He was confused." Saul pointed out, and immediately knew he'd said the wrong thing. There was a long pause. "Danny . . . ?"

"He was so confused." Danny said quietly. "He said he couldn't think properly. What if . . . what if that's permanent?"

Saul made a conscious effort not to react. Because the thought hadn't crossed his mind, well, not over a few dozen times, anyway. "Did Stan even suggest that that might be a possibility?" he asked, confident of the answer.

"No." Danny said slowly. "He said it was just the concussion and blood loss. He said it would pass within a few hours. But what would we do if . . . "

He didn't finish the sentence. And Saul knew that he and the others weren't included in that 'we', and neither was Tess. He also knew what the answer was. Because if it happened, if Rusty didn't recover, Danny would walk away from everything he'd ever known and spend the rest of time taking care of Rusty. And no complaint or regret would ever cross his mind because it would never occur to him that he might have done anything else. There _were_ words, he knew, for the way the boys felt about each other, but none of them had ever seemed quite adequate.

"It's not going to happen, Danny. Don't borrow trouble." There was no answer, and Danny was rubbing harder at the blood, so Saul decided to change his tactics. "Daniel? Stand up." he said in a tone that expected obedience. Automatically Danny did so, and Saul had to admit to being a little pleased that he still had it. "Now. Take these clothes," He handed them over. "And go and take a shower and get changed."

"Saul – " Danny protested, glancing down at Rusty.

" – Do it." he said, firmly. "Rusty isn't going to wake up anytime soon, and even if he does I'll be here."

"But – " Danny tried.

" – And if he wakes up and sees you covered in blood like that," And Danny looked down at himself with a startled expression, "Then he'll probably panic. You know that."

And finally Danny nodded, and clutching the clothes to his chest headed for the door. "You won't leave him?" he asked.

Saul looked at him levelly. "I'll let that pass this time, Daniel. But you know that was an insult."

Danny actually smiled as he left.

Saul settled down on the chair and waited. He didn't think for a moment that Danny would be long. In fact, he made a bet with himself that Danny would be back before ten minutes.

William came over and checked the IV and the blood transfusion equipment. He checked Rusty's vital signs, shone a torch in his eyes, and scribbled something on the chart. Saul couldn't help but wonder whether the chart had actually been on the list that Stan had given Linus. Seemed unlikely. Probably just another instance of Linus being ridiculously thorough.

He gazed down at Rusty and thought about how odd it always seemed to see him sleep. Normally he was a mass of restless energy. The first time he remembered seeing Rusty asleep had been, oh, maybe six months after he'd first met the boys. To his certain knowledge Rusty had been up for more than three days, working on the blueprints to the bank they'd been hitting. And they'd had to move out of town in a hurry, there'd been something they'd needed to locate. Or someone? He couldn't remember. But he remembered the car journey; he'd been in the front seat, and he remembered looking in the rear view mirror and watching as Rusty gradually nodded off, sinking lower and lower in his seat, until finally he'd fallen asleep against Danny's shoulder. Oddly, he'd expected Danny to laugh, shake him awake, do anything apart from shift Rusty into the most comfortable position he could, and then not move a muscle for the next two hours. But that was what he did do, and that was the first time Saul had really understood what it was between the two of them.

"You're why he has grey hairs, you know that?" he asked with a smile, once William had retreated out of hearing distance again.

Saul honestly wasn't expecting Rusty to suddenly open his eyes and try to sit up. But perhaps he should have been.

He reached out a hand and tried to push him back onto the bed, without hurting anything. "Rusty, lie still."

Rusty looked at him sharply. "Saul?" He was still struggling, trying to get out of bed. And Saul might not know much about medicine, but he was fairly confident that was a bad idea.

"Yes, now _lie down_." he said, in the same tone that he'd used on Danny. Unfortunately it didn't have the same effect.

"Danny . . . ?" Rusty asked, desperation in his voice.

"I'm here." Danny's voice came from the doorway, and Rusty immediately stopped and looked round.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine. You're the one who doesn't know when to dodge." Danny answered, coming over and gently pushing Rusty back onto the bed. "Lie down, before Stan comes in and kills us both."

Rusty frowned at Saul. "Not that I'm not happy to see you, but when did you get here?" he looked round thoughtfully. "And where is here?"

Danny exchanged a look with Saul. "We're at Reubens" Danny said carefully. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Farrell. He had a gun." Rusty paused. "He's not supposed to – "

" – Thursday afternoons." Danny interrupted and Rusty nodded.

"Makes sense."

Saul was glad of that. Because he didn't think he could bear the explanation again.

William, waiting patiently in the background, pushed his way forwards and began his examination. "Could you go and get Stan?"

Nodding, Saul headed for the door.

"So, did I miss anything?" Rusty asked.

"Well, you've been pretty out of it." Danny said. "You wanted to blow up Terry Benedict's car."

"And did we?"

"Not yet." And Saul could hear the grin in both of their voices and he smiled to himself.

Because his boys were together and there was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.

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**And that's it. Hope you enjoyed it, and it wasn't too soppy.**


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